


Late Nights and Loud Thoughts

by ScreechTheMighty



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Brief Anti-Semitism, Concentration Camps, Erik definitely has PTSD let's be real here, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Pre-Cuba, Terrible Google translate German, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:23:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Charles picks up thoughts he wasn't supposed to hear. But this isn't always a bad thing.</p><p>(Updated on 5/2/2017 as part of my Great Fic Cleansing of 2017.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Nights and Loud Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on an X-Men kick right now and my first fic for the fandom involves telepathy. No one is surprised.
> 
> Edited this fic on 4/6/2017 to fix questionable grammar/sentence structure/writing in general, and to implement some German changes suggested by lilolilyrae. Thanks for the more accurate German!

Charles Xavier, in general, tried to avoid going to bed until he had exhausted himself. He wanted to drop off to sleep as quickly as possible. That in-between state of sleep and wakefulness was a vulnerable time. It made keeping his powers contained difficult. He’d accidentally picked up very, _very_ sensitive and uncomfortable thoughts when he was in that state. It was something he wanted to avoid as often as possible—for his own sanity, mind you, not just out of respect for the privacy of those around him. There were some things he _never_ wanted to hear ever again.

It wasn’t a foolproof plan, unfortunately. Not even being asleep could keep him safe from the wayward thoughts of those around him. Sleep was a cycle, and he was still vulnerable in those shallow states of rest. And if someone in the house happened to be a very loud thinker, for whatever reason…

It hadn’t happened in years. But there were new minds in the house. Unfamiliar minds. Damaged minds.

Charles remembered dreaming, something light and insubstantial about wandering around a park that was both familiar and unfamiliar. As he walked forward, he became aware of a new sound. Crying, someone was crying. Who could be crying? He was completely alone in this park. “Hello?” he called. His voice sounded muffled to his ears, but the crying was clear as day. “Someone there?”

_Aufhören, bitte hört auf…_

A surge of emotions ( _painlossfear_ all smashed together into a frantic, crimson blur, buzzing like radio static) followed the pleading voice. Charles stopped and tried to fight it off. _Helfen Sie mir…Helfen Sie mir…_ “Where are you?” Charles called again. “I can’t find you.”

The blur of emotions grew stronger, flooding out any other sensation. Charles covered his ears, but kept looking. His dream had devolved into darkness, concrete beneath his feet, air so cold he could see his breath, and somewhere in the distance, huddled in the corner, a figure that couldn’t be any older than fourteen. Unfamiliar, but familiar.

_Helfen Sie mir…_

“Erik?”

He woke with a gasp. A dozen thoughts kept buzzing through his head, thoughts that weren’t his... _homesick calmandpeaceful quiet loss and intense concentration, Helfen Sie mir, Hilfe…_

Charles climbed out of bed. He was able to block out the other thoughts and focus on Erik’s. He was asleep; it made his mind feel like it was underwater. The good news: he wasn’t in any immediate physical danger. The bad news: it wasn’t a good dream, and he was trapped in it. Charles darted down the hall to Erik’s room as quietly as he could. When he reached the door, he knocked gently on the frame. “Erik?” he whispered.

There was no sound on the other side, or nothing that Charles could hear. He tried the door. It was unlocked. When he stepped inside, the bed was empty. And not just of Erik; most of the sheets were gone, and all of the pillows. As Charles walked in, he found one pillow on the floor near the bed, then the comforter crumpled on the ground not too far away. Curled up next to the wall was Erik, wrapped in the sheet and trembling. “Erik…Erik, wake up.” Charles knelt next to Erik and gently shook his shoulder. He tried reaching out with his mind as well. It was like touching a red-hot surface; even the briefest contact brought a burst of pain. Erik’s pain, Erik’s _fear,_ intense and overwhelming. Charles ignored the initial shock and reached out again. _Erik, wake up. It’s just a dream. Wake up, Erik._ _Wake up._

Erik’s shaking stilled. His eyes fluttered open not long after. “Are you all right?” Charles asked quietly. “You were dreaming, I could hear you…”

Well, in his mind, but it was close enough.

“…Charles?” Erik sat up slowly. He looked disoriented. “How did…”

“The door was unlocked. What are you doing on the floor?”

“The mattress is too soft. I couldn't sleep." The overwhelming softness of the mattress seemed to be the only thing he was sure about. Erik looked around the room. “I’m…at the house?”

“Yes, you’re at the house. This is your room, remember? We’re in New York.”

“New York,” Erik echoed. A look of relief slowly appeared on his face, just for a moment. His usual neutral expression replaced it “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m fine.”

 _You didn’t feel fine to me._ But Charles couldn’t exactly press the matter. Erik was stubborn, more stubborn than anyone Charles had known. He wasn’t going to budge on the matter. “All right. Maybe you should try sleeping on the bed…”

Erik shook his head. “It’s better here.”

“Uh-huh. Are you sure…?”

“Charles.” One of Erik’s hands rested on Charles’s. It was an odd gesture for him. _You’re overcompensating, trying to convince me you’re all right. I can see it, Erik. I know you._ “I’m fine. Go back to bed.”

 _You’re more stubborn than an ass is what you are._ “All right, all right. Goodnight, Erik,”

“Goodnight.”

Charles regretted walking out the door within minutes of leaving. Erik wasn’t going back to sleep. Neither was Charles, for that matter. He was wide awake now.

_Wonderful. This is exactly how I wanted to spend a Friday night._

 

**++++++++++**

 

First, the mattress had been too soft. Then, he had too many pillows. And then too many blankets. He felt safest wrapped in just the light sheet (not too tightly, he had to be able to untangle himself from it), lying with his back pressed against the wall (no one could sneak up behind him with the wall in the way). It wasn't until then that Erik could fall asleep. But even in sleep, he couldn't escape.

He dreamed he was back in Auschwitz. Mother lay on the floor in a puddle of her own blood. Erik sat in the corner and stared at her body. What did he expect, that she was going to get back up and everything would be all right? She was dead. Mother was dead, because of him.

_I’m going to count to three…_

Schmidt was coming back. He would be back soon, with sharp knives and needles and more tests to perform. Lift this. Move that. Well done, Little Erik, well done. You’re a marvel, _mein Junge,_ you’re a marvel…

He didn’t want it. He didn’t want the tests, he didn’t want the praise of the man who’d _murdered his mother._ He thought he cried out for help, though there was only his mother’s corpse to hear him.  No one cared. He was nothing to these people, an interesting experiment at best, a filthy Jew at worst. Still he cried out. _Help me. Help me. Help…_

But someone did hear him.

_Erik, wake up. It’s just a dream. Wake up, Erik. Wake up._

And when he woke up, Charles was there. He was in New York, asleep on the floor in Charles’ house. He’d never been happier to wake up.

Relieved though he was, Erik still made excuses and told the telepath to go back to bed. Charles couldn’t see him like this. He wasn’t sure how much Charles had glimpsed (that must have been how he’d known, telepathy), but there was no need for him to see any more. No need for Charles to see how fractured he still was.  Erik must have lay on the floor for half an hour, breathing slowly, eyes closed, trying every trick in the book to convince his weary body to go back to sleep. None of them were working. His mind was too afraid to go back. “Damn it,” he growled.

Well, if he wasn’t going to sleep, might as well walk around the house and make sure everything was secure. It probably was, but checking was better than just lying there. Erik stood, pulled on a sweater, and started down the halls. Everything was quiet. The others were asleep. Raven slumbered in her natural form, hair all a mess. Sean was half falling off the bed, face buried into a pillow. Alex was almost entirely hidden by his blankets. Hank slept on his back, perfectly still. Moira had fallen asleep with a book in her lap. Charles wasn’t in his room. Erik felt a pang of guilt at the sight of the empty bed. Charles was probably wide awake in the library, trying to wear himself back down. All because he’d come to check on Erik. He sighed softly and kept walking.

_What do you know about me?_

_Everything._

_Then what are you still doing here?_

That’s what he should have asked.

As he walked past the kitchen, Erik froze. There was someone in there. He backtracked carefully, trying not to make any noise. Either it was an intruder, or…

“You  think very loudly, you know.”

Charles. Awake, but not in the library. Erik relaxed and entered the kitchen. “I guess I’m not used to having people listen,” he said dryly. Charles was sitting on the counter with a bowl of what looked like ice cream on his lap. A second bowl sat on the counter next to him. “Who’s that for?”

“You.” Charles offered him the bowl.

“And how did you know I was coming down here?” Erik asked as he took the bowl.

“I could tell you were still awake. People awake at this hour usually end up in the kitchen. It’s inevitable.”

“You sound as though you speak from personal experience.”

“I’ve had a lot of sleepless nights. Writing a thesis is more labor-intensive than people realize. Are you all right?”

Erik glanced away the minute Charles asked the question. “I’m fine,” he lied. “It was just a nightmare.”

“That was hardly _just_ a nightmare.” Charles’ voice had a hint of concern to it. Erik could see him out of the corner of his eye, trying to make eye contact. “There’s no shame in it, Erik. After everything you’ve been through…”

“You don’t know anything about that.”

Charles fell silent almost immediately. Erik hadn’t meant to snap, but the words were coming now, and there was no stopping them. “I don’t know what you saw, but you don’t know…you weren’t _there._ ” His grip on the bowl tightened. “You don’t…”

“You’re right. I don’t.” Charles set aside his bowl and reached out, briefly, as though he were going to touch Erik’s shoulder. He withdrew his hand just as quickly, before Erik even had time to flinch away. _Telepaths._ “I’m sorry.”

Erik nodded. His grip on the bowl loosened. “It’s all right,” he said. He felt a bit guilty for snapping like that, but he was _tired_ of people’s sympathy. Try as they could, no one could really know what he’d gone through.

It was a dreadfully lonely thing.

“You shouldn’t have to go through this alone, though,” said Charles. He picked up his bowl and started back on the ice cream. “Even if I don’t fully understand what it is you’ve gone through, I can help you, Erik. Just say the word.”

The offer gave Erik some pause. Pity he was used to, forced smiles and “I’m so sorry”s. Offers of real help, these were rare. Offers of help from someone who might _actually_ be able to help were rarer still. Offers of help from someone who could help _and_ someone Erik trusted…

Well, this was the first.

He finally took a bite of the ice cream. It had melted a bit as it sat on the counter, waiting for him, but it was still cold and sweet. “Thank you,” he said. “For this, and…for waking me up.”

Charles smiled. This time, when he reached out to rest a hand on Erik’s shoulder, Erik didn’t flinch away. “Any time, my friend.”

They finished their ice cream in silence and washed the dishes so the others wouldn’t know. Erik had the feeling that Raven worked it out anyway the next morning. If she did, she didn’t say anything about it.


End file.
